


Carpe Diem - REDUX

by kessinger



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Gender-neutral Reader, Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson at Columbia, Other, Reader-Insert, re-written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-03 01:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11521266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kessinger/pseuds/kessinger
Summary: Reader and Matt serendipitously meet as students at Columbia University and start to fall for/want to fuck each other amidst terrible apartments, insistent matchmaking, cheap dive bars, bad habits, and living in the pulsing heart of NYC.





	1. Step 1: Have a jerk friend make your job harder than it needs to be

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Carpe Diem](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6050971) by [kessinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kessinger/pseuds/kessinger). 



> A RE-WRITTEN version of the story I posted more than a year ago. Not sure if I'll ever finish it, but I can definitely clean up the old chapters. You can read the old summary on the original story, but here we goes. 
> 
> Yes Chapter 2 is being posted first. I re-wrote that over Chapter 1, but Chapter 1 and all the others will eventually be posted.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy likes books, you don't like Foggy, and Matt doesn't like dusty chapels.

Matt Murdock was alone.

Light filtered prettily through the chapel's stained glass windows (not that he could see it, but he digressed). He could feel his skin warm in colored patches as he knelt heavily against his pew. Sure, he could feel a Bible jabbing him in his diaphragm, but Matt didn't care-- he was in his element. He was praying like he often did, in solitude-- although the dust mites were really insistent on keeping him company today. Matt scowls as he tries to chase away the incessant itching in his nose from all the airborne dirt. He feels his stomach tense as his breath goes shallow in a vain attempt to curb the mounting urge to sneeze. Irritated, he tries to refocus, and after a moment he gains control again.

A distant shout makes Matt inhale sharply, and _damn_ it all, his body jolts forward as he sneezes violently. His concentration is officially gone and his meditation time comes to a very unsatisfying end. Class starts in twenty and he can't afford to stay. Matt inhales deeply, his senses overwhelmed by the pungent smell of wood and old incense. He steps outside the chapel tight lipped and restless.

"Matt!" A disembodied voice calls out to him a few yards ahead. Matt slows and turns towards the voice.

"Foggy!" Matt greeted, smiling a little too brightly. Foggy reads him like a book.

"What's up?" Foggy asks.

"Nothing much." Matt replies evasively, flashing Foggy another smile. Foggy's unconvinced, but doesn't push it. On cue, Matt's watch beeps pointedly-- ten minutes to class.

"Tardy again Murdock?" Foggy scolds, clicking his tongue. "For shame. That'll be twenty lashings."

"You're really cracking the whip, Foggy." Matt jokes.

"Please. Professor Hammerhan's put everyone through way worse."

"True, but I have to get going." Matt said, adjusting his glasses with his cane tucked under his arm.

"Uh-huh, before Hammerhan really does give you twenty lashings-- or dunks you in hot oil. Or pulls out your fingernails!--"

"Bye Foggy." Matt sighs and jogs away, his cane quickly tapping side-to-side on the cobblestone path.

"You sure you can find your way?" Foggy shouts after him.

"I think so." Matt called over his shoulder. Foggy accompanies him anyway. Truthfully, Matt learned Columbia's campus backwards and forwards by sophomore year. And realistically speaking, he knew that it wasn't necessary for him to rush-- he was blind, a fact he sometimes admits he's used against a few particularly stringent professors (oh, so sorry for my lateness Professor, I made a wrong turn not being able to see and all, could you please open the door?).

Predictably, he walked into Professor Hammerhan's class without incident, sat in the nearest empty seat, and sniffed to clear his nose. Matt's attention faded in and out for the rest of class.

* * *

  
Elsewhere, Foggy was biding his time in the university's library until his next class. He claimed occupancy of one of the larger study tables surrounded by several stacks of books, much to the chagrin of the library assistant-- you.

"You plan to put those back, right?" You grimace from afar, shuffling papers at the main desk. Foggy's face broke out into a wide grin.

"[Name], it's been awhile! Where've you been?" Foggy called out amicably. You hastily shush him and jog over, not bothering to point out that Foggy saw you last week.

"Quiet, quiet! Christ." You wince as you closely survey the multitude of books Foggy had at his disposal. "Did you take out the entire library?"

"Easy, I only took out a few things from the forensics section."

"Then what's Socrates doing here?"

"... I might've swung by the ethics section too." You groan in response.

"We don't even have an ethics sect-- you know what, never mind. Why do you choose to make my job difficult?"

"It's not a choice, [Name]-- it's imperative! How else are you gonna prepare for the real world if someone doesn't come in here and mess up all your neat and tidy books every once in awhile?" Foggy tries to suppress his wicked grin in vain. You exhale and look wistfully at the clock. You weren't going home on time this afternoon after all.

"Okay, but seriously, what's with all the books?" You finally ask, picking up and flipping through a book from the top of one pile.

"Well, it started as a report I was doing for Mancuso's class-- but then I started getting inspired, and now I'm thinking this might become an undergrad thesis sort of deal." You gawk at him.

"A thesis! Why? The first semester's barely ended--"

"And we're in our junior year, [Name]. If I want any chance of graduating early, _or_ getting into somewhere reputable for my master's degree, I've gotta step my game up." Foggy emphasized, gesturing to the wide spread of books. He was met with another sigh.

"It's gonna kill you, you know that, right?" You state matter-of-factly. Foggy nodded and hummed cheerfully in agreement. "You and your roommate are insane, both of you."

"Speaking of which, you really need meet him sometime, you'd love him."

"How can you be so sure?" You counter skeptically, returning the book to its pile. "Not that I doubt your judgement-- actually yeah, I doubt your judgement--" Ignoring the affronted look from Foggy, you continue, "But me and the other people you've tried to introduce me to haven't meshed all that well." Foggy opened his mouth to argue. "Say what you will Fogs, I just don't like Marci."

"You liked Karen! And is this really all about Marci? [Name], I told you--"

"I know Foggy, I get it. I'm sure she's a lovely lady. She just really rubs me the wrong way, is that criminal?" Foggy's eyes darted to one of his law books.

"Well, I'd know, I'm a _lawyer_ \-- ow! Assault and battery! Assault and-- ow!" He yelps as you swat him with one of the thinner books on the table. When his peer relented, he pouts. "You're mean!"

"And you're rude and inconvenient. Are you going to check those out?" You ask impatiently.

"You just don't want to put them back."

"Your point?"

"Touche."

You walk Foggy to the entrance of the library, holding the doors open for him as he stumbles out cradling a tower of books.

"Now, you're sure you don't need help with those." You say warily, eyeing the books that wobbled with each step Foggy took.

"No! If Matt can navigate this campus without seeing, then I can carry a few books to my--" Foggy takes a wayward step that sends him toppling down the last stair of the library and sprawling across the pathway. "Dorm..." He sighs. You snicker at the sight of Foggy laying on the cobblestone like a starfish, all his books spreading out and circling him like an unfortunate halo.

"[Name]! You ass, stop laughing!" Foggy hisses indignantly, picking himself up off the ground. You regain enough composure to help him, gathering all of the books in a minute.

"Right. I'll carry half. Where's your dorm?" You ask before Foggy has time to object.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da, here's the rewritten first chapter. Stuff will be rewritten chronologically here on out, so that's cool.


	2. Step 2: Vandalize a dorm you envy and meet a not-RA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet a hot guy because Foggy doesn't know how to hold objects without dropping them all over the place.

First, a confession: you had never been in any the dorms.

Columbia University had like what, twenty? The chance to live at any of them was a fever dream, further soured by your shitty apartment and the bitter reality that state financial aid was a complete joke. You didn't regret it too much, though; you heard awful things about dorms anyway. You've casually listened ~~(eavesdropped, whatever)~~ to whispered conversations where complaints about bugs and old infrastructure were said with such a solemnity that it seemed like the dorms were _this_ close to collapsing. A small part of you balked at the allegations and savored the schadenfreude.

Imagine your surprise when you follow Foggy into the tidy, insect-free (and disgustingly gorgeous) Wallach Hall. You couldn't stop yourself from remarking out loud how clean the place was. You were almost offended at how clean the place was.

"What, you thought we were a bunch of slobs? Rude." Foggy chided.

"People said the dorms were disgusting." You splutter, trying to swallow your disappointment.

"What?" Foggy laughed. "Who have you been talking to?"

You trailed after Foggy up what felt like the fiftieth stair ("It's not that far you baby, we live on third," he said) until he quickly veered right down a long corridor. You crane your neck around the wavering mass of plastic and paper in your arms to try and get a visual on where you both are going, but Foggy's stride is fast and doesn't give much indication of stopping. Door after pristine door skirts past your peripherals.

That is, until your face abruptly meets the spine of Nietzsche's _Beyond Good and Evil_ and Plato's _Republic_. The force from walking headlong into Foggy's stationary back sends the books toppling from your hold, which in turn jostles Foggy. You both cringe as the books come raining down. When the paper settles, you and Foggy just stand for a moment in the middle of the hallway. You're amazed there were no casualties. _Republic_ would almost definitely kill someone if it fell the right way.

"... Smooth, [Name]."

"Smooth me?! You're the one who checked out all these books!"

"You made me check them out so you wouldn't have to put them back!"

Bickering ensues as the two of you stand among the sad spread of law texts and handbooks in the empty corridor, many of them laying limp and open like dead fish. You self consciously hear your own voices bouncing off the walls and wonder fleetingly if either of you risk getting in trouble with an RA. For you, it didn't matter so much, but you couldn't say the same for Foggy.

A door opens in the midst of the commotion.

"Foggy? What's going on?" A calm voice asks from a few doors down. You and Foggy immediately fall silent and look to the approaching speaker, a dark-haired (and hey, kind of cute, your mind whispers) guy with a cane. Embarrassed, you're a millisecond away from a flurry of apologies (shit, he is an RA, isn't he?) until Foggy does what he does best and completely shatters any semblance of tension.

"Matt!" He exclaims happily, "There's someone I want you to meet!" The guy (Matt?) smiles expectantly from behind his round tinted glasses. Suddenly something clicks into place.

"Foggy!" You snap. "This is Matt?" Foggy startles and Matt's eyebrows raise curiously.

"Uh, yeah--?" You turn to Matt.

"Are you the one that helped the that elderly man all those years ago in that car accident?"

"It was a truck--"

"Shut up Foggy, you didn't tell me 'Matt' was... him!" Matt has the decorum to look abashed.

"Here I was thinking people forgot about me." He teased, hands idly twisting the handle of his cane. "It's nice people appreciate what I did, but I can't help but wonder if the news gets old after a while."

"Maybe to some." You say. "I used to know him, he was a family friend." Foggy makes a noise of disbelief and Matt's eyes widen behind his glasses.

"Really?" Matt gives a huff of laughter. "Small world." He says quietly.

"Yes, really. Thank you." You laugh with him, holding back more praise at the risk of making him uncomfortable. Matt seems like he's getting seriously tired of the subject-- he also seems too polite to say so. Maybe it is old news. You switch gears. "Foggy, aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Seems like you had that covered." Foggy said, "Everyone's always stepping on my lines." He grumbled jokingly.

"Yeah, but that didn't count. I didn't get a formal introduction." You protested. You cringe at how whiny it sounds in your ears. If it's whiny, Matt nor Foggy seem to notice.

"Oh, sincerest apologies Your Highness. Sir Matt," Foggy began, stepping to the side and gesturing widely to you, "High and Mighty [Name], Keeper of Books. High and Mighty [Name]," Foggy's arms sweep widely in Matt's direction amidst snickers from the both of you, "Sir Matt."

"A pleasure." Matt responds wryly.

"Same." You add lamely, dissolving into more giggles than necessary to distract from your titter of a heartbeat.

You don't think about your pulse too long because you catch Foggy looking suspiciously happy at the sight of you and Matt talking. You narrow your eyes at him and he looks at you encouragingly, like it's your turn to be interesting and selfless in light of his interesting and selfless friend-- which is totally fine. It's not like that puts you on the spot or anything. You feel your face grow hot as the quiet grows.

"How do you two know each other?" Matt asks, saving you from a longer awkward silence. He gestures to you and Foggy with a sway of his cane (he talks a lot with it, doesn't he?).

"We were in Criminal Justice together last semester," Foggy started, "It was a dumb class."

"Yeah." You agree, mentally kicking yourself for another monosyllabic reply. There's a million other words in the English language and the best reply you can dredge up is 'yeah.' 

"Are you interested in criminal justice?" He asked, inclining his head towards you. You could see his gaze behind the glasses if you looked hard enough. It was slightly off center, but pretty accurate. It feels like Matt's actually looking at you-- and it throws you off a little.

"Not exactly, I want to go into journalism." You recover, stumbling over your words a little. Matt grinned knowingly.

"One of your professors is Ben Urich, right?" It was your turn to be surprised.

"Yeah, actually-- do you know him?"

"He can make a journalist out of anyone he talks to," Matt said admiringly. "Almost convinced me to go into journalism myself, but Foggy was more persuasive." He added, good-naturedly tapping his cane against his partner's shoulder.

"Long story short, we're gonna start a law firm." Foggy interjected confidently. Matt beams in agreement, wholly sharing in Foggy's enthusiasm.

"That's amazing." You say, smiling with them. The moment is sobered, however, when another student weaves through the labyrinth of books you and Foggy left on the floor. You and Foggy glance at each other. "... We should probably pick those up."

"Yeah..." You drop to the floor, kneeling and scooping books together, Foggy gathering novels a few feet away. For a few seconds there's only the sound of covers sliding against hardwood, until it's accompanied by a rhythmic tapping. You look up to see Matt shuffling around, using his cane to locate and corral books. "Matt, you don't have to!--" You say, feeling a big pang of guilt. Letting Matt try to help felt cruel, even if he was doing it without anyone asking him to.

"[Name], I'm more capable than I look." He said with an assurance that told of years of learned patience. Again your heartbeat palpitates weirdly in your chest. You try to shake the feeling and try to focus on chasing a stray work of Charles Dickens across the carpet.

"So, where to?" Matt asks, straightening up along side Foggy, short stack of books in hand.

"Right into our room, buddy." Foggy says with a slightly perverse grin, Matt sighing.

"Your side of the room." He warns tiredly, "I'm not losing another paper because you leave your things everywhere." Foggy laughs, giving Matt a brotherly shove as he shoulders his way into their shared room. You chuckle as Matt rolls his eyes. "Hope he didn't cause you too much trouble." He says lowly to you.

"Only a little." You respond, quickly dipping into the doorway to set the books on the nearest flat surface before joining rejoining Matt in the hall right outside. Foggy speedily grabs the final stack of books from Matt's arms and disappears inside the room, shuffling and moving.

"I should probably go, make sure he's only touching what he's supposed to." Matt muttered darkly. You're smiling despite yourself.

"No, it's fine, I get it. Hopefully I'll see you around?"

"Count on it." He says with another half smile (he's good at those, you think) before entering the shared room, the door closing shut behind him.

(Really really good at those.)


	3. Step 3: Pretend to be a journalist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt's not about the wingman life while you and Karen get plot development.

Matt was finding it hard to enjoy himself, which was a shame because strolling through Columbia's sprawling campus with Foggy was sort of his main way of relaxing. He had a tendency to think too much when he was left to his own devices, so Foggy's perpetual good humor and seemingly endless stream of topics to talk about was a welcome distraction.

But-- Foggy was weirdly off his mark today. He would talk idly, but pause often, as if he was waiting for Matt to get a word in. It's almost like Foggy, the notoriously talkative, endearingly hard-to-shut-up Foggy, isn't _saying_ something.  And how could Matt know (besides the obvious signs)?

First, Foggy's breath keeps hitching in his chest. Second, Foggy's so smug it's coming off him in waves as he's walking next to Matt-- God, Matt can feel him smiling and it was beginning to drive him slightly insane. Was there a 'kick me' sign on his back?

"What's up Foggy." It wasn't a question.

"Did you like [Name]?" Foggy asked eagerly, betraying his motives. Matt breathed heavily.

"Please don't set me up on another date." He pled, firmly squeezing Foggy's shoulder.

"Oh come on! [They're] single and certifiably sane, what more could you want?" Foggy argued.

"It's not that _simple_ , Foggy..." Matt says exasperatedly, releasing Foggy's shoulder to comb his fingers through his own hair. "I'm serious. No matchmaking, okay?"

"Fine-- I'm only trying to do you a favor." Foggy obliged, raising his hands in surrender.

"Did you only introduce [them] to me just for that?" Matt asked, skin flushing lightly in irritation.

"If I can't find the man or lady for you Murdock, I wanted to at least find you another friend." Foggy says earnestly.  Matt's irritation falters.

"Why?" He asks tiredly.

"Because you can't get through life with only one friend, idiot."

"I have other friends!" Matt argues.

"You only met Karen five months ago, bud-- people need to be around half a year plus to count as official friend material." Foggy drawled. "And although I'm big enough to count for two, I'm still only one guy." He added jokingly. Matt opened his mouth to further object, but knew whatever argument he made, Foggy had a bit of a point.

"You'll make a great lawyer." It was Mattspeak for 'good argument', which was as close to an admission of defeat that Foggy would probably ever get-- which he was totally fine with.

"Listen Matt, don't do anything you don't want to. Romantic stuff aside, I think [Name] could be good for you." Foggy patted Matt heartily on the back. "Don't sweat it."

They continued onwards.

* * *

  
"So you met Matt?" She whispered under her breath.

"Uh-huh." You whispered back, nodding. Karen leaned closer, allowing her hair to fall forward and form a blonde curtain between her and Professor Urich.

"What do you think?" She asked in a hushed voice, casting a wayward glance at the professor at the front of the room.

"Of Matt?" You questioned. "I mean, he's nice--" You state vaguely, feeling your face grow hot at the skeptical look you received from Karen.

"Nice? That's all?" She pried, looking for a deeper answer. You shrugged self consciously, not sure what Karen expects you to say. Karen straightened back in her seat. "He's a wanted man." She stated ominously.

"What?" You stammer. "By who?"

"... Almost every woman on campus." Karen finished, unable to contain her smile any longer. She covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her giggling at your deadpan expression.

"You need to spend less time around Foggy." You say stoically before focusing their attention back to the front of the room.

Ben Urich crossed the stage of the vast classroom, the large projection screen blinking to a new slide behind him.

"... And so, your final project." He was met with  mutters that travelled around the room. "I know, why bother with a final project half way through the semester?" Professor Urich pauses. "I'm assigning this now because it's not just a project. Do it right, it can be your ticket to a career when you graduate." He continues.

"It's also the time to show me what you got. Show me what you learned. You all are here because of your dedication, and commitment. You're here not because you wanna write for tabloids-- not even because you wanna write." He chuckles.

"You're here because you value the truth. You all have a strong sense of morale that compels you to make sure people are educated about the world. It takes more than decent command of a language and a thesaurus to be a journalist-- it takes guts. Real journalism transcends fear of job loss, harm, or public backlash. Journalists relentlessly go after the stories they know only they can tell. It's the heart and soul of the practice."

"And so, your project. For your final project, you are to choose a story, follow it, report it. It can be anything, but make it a good one, don't half-ass it. That means no stories about your pets, no stories about your grandma-- and if you do, your grandma better be a Nobel Prize winner, because you all need to pick something worth _informing_ people about." He summarizes. "If it's good enough," He added, "It might just be published in the local paper."

"The school paper?" A voice calls from the back.

"That'd be good, maybe-- I was thinking something more along the lines of the New York Bulletin." Professor Urich said, his mouth betraying a slight smile. The class clamored at the news, the attentive silence during Urich's speech utterly falling apart at the idea.

"Oh my God!" You heard Karen exclaim excitedly beside them, looking at them enthusiastically. "[Name], we should ask--"

"You're allowed to work with one other partner," Professor Urich called over the crowd with impeccable timing. "Or several-- see me about it in advance."

You and Karen look happily at each other in sync, and convey wordlessly what you both already started thinking--

"Partners?"

"Partners." Karen opened her laptop.

"Now, what's our story?"


	4. Step 4: Take care of a drunk friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You become, more or less, the friend group's designated "responsible friend."

The Internet was falling depressingly short today.

Eight browser tabs and roughly twelve websites-- so far that is the extent of your research for your grand master project, which was already more than what you did for that horrific paper assigned in Castillo's class back in December.  Narrative Writing was a bitch.

Anyway, you're working on browser tab number nine when you feel your brain fizzle and blink out. It probably _isn't_ sagging in your skull like wet newspaper but it definitely feels like it-- and you don't need to call Claire to know that's not healthy.  It's also a good sign that it's probably time for a break, because maintaining constant eye contact with the laptop screen for five-going-on-six hours is probably not healthy either.  Claire would lecture the hell out of you right now if she could.  Being a medical student gave you ultimate dibs on advising others about their health, apparently.  It might be annoying, but you think it's sweet.  Even endearing, in a mom-of-friend-group sort of way.  Hell knows your roommate isn't exactly jumping up to run to the drugstore for you when you're feeling gross, so you'll take Momma Claire any day.

Speaking of your roommate.

"Elektra?"  Silence.  "Elektra!"  Still nothing.

You gently displace your laptop to your duvet and venture into the hallway.  Throwing open the door to Elektra's completely off-limits room shows nothing, hardly surprising.  Venturing to the kitchen reveals a note emblazoned with wide, sweeping script: 'Back later.'

It's a pleasant change, because Elektra doesn't usually leave a note. She just leaves and comes back, leaves and comes back-- like a cat. Maybe you could have a little flap in the front door installed for her?

On the counter your phone emits a keening buzz.  Another message from Foggy.  Foggy's efforts at coaxing you out of your apartment were admirable, but ineffective.  You know, you kind of miss his commentary in Criminal Justice, but you're not blowing up _his_ phone with texts.  And normally, you'd be _this_ close to telling Foggy that you only saw him as friend and were not interested, but his texts weren't about you and him.  They were about you, him, and Matt.

> Froggy [Tues 6:09 PM] : told you you'd like matt! isn't he cool?  
>  Froggy [Wed 8:33 AM] : hey! me and matt are going for coffee before class, wanna come?  
>  Froggy [Thurs 3:12 PM] : library's a lot quieter without you yelling at me, where r u? matt needs help finding something  
>  Froggy [Fri 5:28 AM] : karen, matt and i are going for drinks later. wanna come? you can bring claire if you want  
>  Froggy [Sat 11:55 PM] : dude i hate to keep bothering you but you even alive??? i haven't seen you around  
>  Froggy [Sat 1:41 PM]: there's like these underclassmen in your place at the library and they don't even know where anything is  
>  Froggy [Sun 12:00 PM]: do you know if the library has thurgood marshall? matt needs it

Matt Matt Matt.

On another note, Foggy misspelled his name in your phone contacts and still doesn't know, which makes this whole texting spam bearable and a little funny.  You respond:

> [Name] [Sun 5:11 PM]: Idk, it should? I'll ask about it when i go back

You think for a second, and add:

> [Name] [Sun 5:12 PM]: sorry about dropping off the face of the earth. I've been doing research for a project

And send. You're hardly surprised at 'Froggy's' nearly immediate reply.

> Froggy [Sun 5:15 PM]: apology accepted! actually no, not accepted, you have to make it up to me by coming to dinner with us  
>  Froggy [Sun 5:15 PM]: by us i mean karen, matt, and i. since you didn't come last time

That was predictable.  Part of you really doesn't want to go-- it's more compelling to stay home, but less so knowing that your project is going to be haunting you around your apartment if you do.  Fresh air might do you some good, maybe prevent you from flinging your laptop out the window if nothing else.  It's just a matter of finding out where and when--

> Froggy [Sun 5:19 PM]: Josie's. we go there all the time. 94 Bedford Ave, be there in 30

Fine by you.  All that was left was to strip out of your dismally wrinkled pajamas and change into something presentable.  You settle on something simple, you doubt that Josie's is a black-tie formal kind of deal-- college students could barely afford decent groceries let alone champagne.  If someone was willing to pick up the tab, you weren't going to complain.  Still, you wouldn't be rude.  You tuck a twenty into your pocket and figured at worst you'll have a water and an appetizer.  As you're halfway out the door, you wonder if you should leave a note for Elektra like she did for you.  In all honesty, Elektra probably didn't do it for courtesy's sake.  You're not even sure if she likes you; you doubt that the sudden communication is because of a change of heart.

You decide not to leave one. And outside you went.

* * *

  
So Foggy didn't tell you this was a dive bar.

Not that you didn't like dive bars, they were just hard to find, particularly at nighttime (you passed the place twice on accident).  The bright neon 'JOSIE'S' flickered in the wide street window, the only significant source of external light for the restaurant.  Josie's is very unassuming; the inside is so dark you thought it was closed.  You mentally resolved that if this was all a prank that you were going to punch Foggy next time you saw him and leave him to find his own fucking books-- but it wasn't.  Looking closer, the faint silhouettes of people could be made out inside.  You wonder which one of those watery shadows belong to Matt.

A high, tinkling ring announces your arrival as you push through the door.  Your hand trails across one of the square hardwood tables in the middle of the floor as you walk in a little ways from the worn booths that lined the wall opposite of the bar.  Your eyes had to adjust to the low, bluish lights that glowed from the TVs and bare light bulbs.  Sports and travel paraphernalia clutter the walls, license plates and vintage baseball bats glinting faintly.  The wall was covered in photos of smiling, blurry people, like an old scrapbook.  Looking up revealed not a ceiling but a labyrinth of black pipes that gently hissed and sighed.

"[Name]?"  The voice is low and distinct.  You turn around and Matt is half-smiling at you in that way he does as he nods over to the bar.  "We're sitting over there."

"Oh hey!"  Foggy called jovially as you and Matt approached.  "Karen, look who finally accepted my--"  Foggy's sentence is punctuated by a small huff of a belch.  "--Invitation."  You wedged yourself in a stool between Matt and Karen.

"'The Keeper of Books.'" Matt remembers, trying to sneakily pull the beer bottle away from his slightly inebriated best friend.  Foggy whines in protest, his hand sluggishly chasing after Matt's.

"Foggy, I thought you were supposed to be the designated driver...!"  Karen said indignantly.  Her cheeks were flushed as she sipped from the shot glass in her hand, trying to glare seriously at Foggy.

"Matt can drive."  He responded.

"Sure about that, Fogs?"  You snort, taking a swig of the water glass that the woman working the bar slid in front of you (possibly Josie?).

"Okay okay, okay,"  Karen said, holding up her finger, "What's worse? Driving blind..."  She began,  "Or driving drunk?"

"It's a solid tie."  Matt answered, sipping Foggy's beer.

"Ma-a-att..."  Foggy complained,  "That's mine."

"It is?"  Matt's unoccupied hand briefly felt around the bar before closing around his drink.  "Oh, shit."  He laughed.

"You asshole," Foggy muttered, "I can't... drink that now. You have, like--"  He fumbles around for a word. "Herpes.  AIDs."  Maybe you should be filming this.  Drunk Foggy is legendary.  As Matt rolls his eyes behind his glasses, the TV comes into focus behind you.

"And, our latest story tonight, another fraud scheme.  Berkley National is being sued by more than a dozen tenants of a new apartment complex that opened in West Midtown a month ago after allegedly charging tenants hundreds of thousands of dollars for unneeded repairs--"  You nudge Karen with your arm.

"Karen-- listen to this."  Her eyes come into better focus as she looks at the flatscreen propped up on the wall behind you.

"... Berkley National is one of several companies affiliated with Keller and McCulloch that have been found guilty of fraud over the past six months, however, no further connection between these previous fraud cases and Berkley has been made. The cases are currently being investigated..."

"You wanna try that?" You ask, pointing to the TV.

"For what, the project?" She asks.

"Duh." She grins widely.

"That's something I can drink to." She says, happily draining the last of the liquid in her glass.

* * *

  
You and Karen see Foggy and Matt off in a taxi.  You offered to help Matt try and wrangle a drunk Foggy into the car, but Matt deftly coaxed his friend into his seat despite being buzzed himself.  Weirdly enough, Matt didn't seem all that drunk-- then again, he didn't seem all that blind either.  He barely used his cane in the restaurant, hell, he rarely fumbled when reaching for something like his drink (you reasoned, though, he probably knew things by rote anyhow).  The only indication that Matt was a little off kilter was his reddened face and smiley demeanor.  He barely swayed when he walked, the cane probably helped with that, which was more than you could currently say for Foggy or Karen.

"I love you guys!"  Karen cried and waved as the taxi drove away, almost making to follow the vehicle until she was stopped by her arm linked in yours.

"Oh my god Karen, you are so done for tonight."  You sigh, looking for a cab to signal.  "Where do you live?"

"I dunno-- just... let me look..."  Karen hummed, fumbling for her phone.  Groaning in exasperation you wave down another cab and shove Karen inside.  You give the cab driver your address and try to assuage whether or not you're going to be dealing with Karen's vomit over the course of this car ride.  There were some shaky moments, but you got Karen out of the car vomit free (the cab driver's relief was tangible).  As you stand outside your apartment building, Karen's arm slung over your shoulder, you hesitate. Heavily.

First and foremost-- no one comes over to your apartment.  That was the deal you struck with Elektra, not because of overtly personal reasons, but because your apartment was still... a work in progress. It was barely hospitable to you and Elektra, let alone guests, but such was the sacrifice for such cheap rent.  Karen groaned as she pressed her cheek into your shoulder.  Looks like you were stuck.

Sighing, you used your free hand to turn the knob and nudge the front door open with your hip.  The inside is black.  Clumsily, you feel around for the stairway.  When your hand clasped around the handrail you began the task of bringing Karen up the stairs, which was easier than you feared.  Karen became cognizant when you reached your apartment door on the second floor.

"[Name], where are we...?"  She asked dazedly.  "This isn't my house..."

"You couldn't remember where your house is so I bought you to mine."  You state matter-of-factly.  Karen makes a noise of disbelief.

"I don't... wanna sleep with you..."  She said warily.  You laugh out loud.

"Don't worry.  You won't."

After rummaging through your pockets for your keys, you managed to unlock your front door and guide Karen to the couch.  The place was still dark when you entered; you don't think Elektra is home.  Streams of light from the street outside your window cast shadows on the pale walls of your bare apartment.  It's enough light that you're still able to somewhat see and move around, which was good.  You and Elektra had to avoid turning on the lights or using electricity as much as possible, at least until next month when you could get a generator or something.  Once Karen is settled, you duck into your room to change into your lazy day clothes-slash-pajamas from before and weigh in on a good excuse to tell Elektra.

You peer into her room-- nothing.  Elektra wasn't home and you weren't sure what was more problematic: her being out or her being here.  If she came in now or any time before you could get Karen to leave, that would be bad.  Elektra wouldn't actually _hurt_ anyone, but she would not be happy, and despite the weird on-off friend thing you have going on with her you still need Elektra as a roommate to help support the rent.  You literally can't afford for her to leave, especially not because you inadvertently pissed her off by violating a pretty basic ground rule.

Whoa, okay, that's something you definitely don't want to think about right now.  You begin distracting yourself by searching for aspirin to have ready for Karen in the morning. You become so involved in the task that you don't even look up when the floorboards creak loudly by your door.

"Karen, did you need somethi--"

"Is that who's on the couch?" An accented voice asks behind you.  Your heart leaps into your throat.  Shit.

"E-Elektra?"  You startle, badly.  Shit.  She smiles and waves with a sarcastic twiddle of her fingers in your doorway.

"We agreed." She said, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms.  The excuses that you had armed and ready had fled, disappeared, gone in a shock of smoke.  Your mouth worked soundlessly as you mentally grasped at straws trying to find something non-incriminating to say, to offset the obvious transgression sleeping on the couch in the room over.  "Why is she here?" Elektra asked, demanding and deliberate.

"I went for drinks with some friends."  You say defensively, suddenly feeling small.  You hate it.

"Are you drunk too?"  Elektra scoffs.  You inhale sharply.

"I am not!"  You hiss, furious.

"I want her out by morning."  Elektra said with an air of finality, turning on her heel and disappearing into her room.  

" _It's my apartment too_."  You hiss at her back.  You know she heard you, but she says nothing.  She leaves you fuming in her wake, knotting your duvet in your fists as you try to calm down.

You can't afford to have her leave, you keep thinking.

You fall into a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm surprisingly content with this chapter still-- I did want to fix the characterization of Elektra because this was first written BEFORE season 2 came out and I had no clue what Elektra was going to be like/what her backstory was. I gotta re-work the story a little for it to eventually make sense but I'll get there.


End file.
